


Breathe

by CastellanGarak



Series: The Way He Speaks [4]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Begging, Breathplay, Cloacal Sex, Dukat is too kinky to torture, It's ok though, M/M, he likes it, use of torture device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 08:12:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13853628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastellanGarak/pseuds/CastellanGarak
Summary: prompt: breathplay, tortureDukat looks at him, pupils huge. “Please,” he says.“Please what?”“Anything. *Everything.*”“Everything,” Garak repeats, with a smokey chuckle. “I didn’t want to give it to you back then, and I certainly don’t now.”





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to my beta, who found time to edit this even while busy with college <3

Dukat is going through Damar’s report when the door slams open and he’s suddenly face down on the desk. “Elim,” Dukat says, against the metal. He thinks of how things ended last he saw Garak “I see you’ve found my going away present.”

Garak is seething. Barely able to form the words necessary to cut dukat to ribbons over this. Perhaps he'll consider more literal slicing if what he's planning doesn't satisfy him.

“Suck my dick, Skrain.”

“I would, if you’d just let me up,” Dukat says, pleasantly.

Garak breaths out harshly through his nose, and then says, voice tight, “Of course, you’d have to beg first.”

“If you think you can make me beg _again_ , y-” Dukat cuts off suddenly, when Garak slaps something around his neck, and then lets him up.

Dukat sits up and looks down, hand going to his throat. “Um,” he says, fingering the nondescript silver chain, and then meets Garak’s eyes. Dukat swallows. “Is this-”

Garak thumbs a device, depressing it with an audible click. They stare at each other in charged silence, and then Dukat jerks, gets abruptly to his feet, and staggers towards Garak. Garak dodges, and Dukat sways, then falls to his knees. “Garak,” he gasps out, eyes dilating.

“Mmmm,” Garak says, kneeling in front of Dukat and running his thumb across the device. “If you’re going to beg, you’d better start now, because soon you won’t be able to talk.”

“Won’t… beg…” Dukat chokes out.

“Suit yourself,” Garak says, turning up the intensity.

Dukat chokes again, mouth dropping open. He braces himself on his hands, arms trembling, hands firmly planted between his knees. He squirms.

Garak’s nostris flair. “You reek already,” he says. “I thought you’d last longer.” His eyes drop to Dukat’s tented pants.

Dukat looks at him, pupils huge. “Please,” he says.

“Please what?”

“Anything. _Everything_.”

“Everything,” Garak repeats, with a smokey chuckle. “I didn’t want to give it to you back then, and I certainly don’t now.”

“Garak,” Dukat pleads, panting harshly, breaths coming in staccato bursts, struggling to force air past the constricting presence of the chain. Dukat looks at him desperately, and a thrill goes through Garak. He has used this device many times, but never quite like this.

Garak stands up, forcing Dukat to look up at him. “You know what this is,” Garak says, gesturing to the collar. “You know what I’ve used it for. You must also know that it has safeties, to prevent fatal accidents. One cannot interrogate a corpse, after all. So you just might, perhaps, think this is just some fun game. But you’d be mistaken. I… altered… the device.” Garak says, absently, circling behind him, placing himself in such a way that should Dukat foolishly attempt to attack Garak, or simply turn to look Garak in the eye, Garaks face will be backlit and cut sharply with shadows.

Garak intends to nip any insolent behavior in the bud, startling and intimidating the fool out of actions he may regret. In the unlikely case Dukat chooses wisely, Garak still intends to get a rise out of making Dukat’s begging all the more genuine, eyes twinkling with fear. Fear Instigated by the collar clamped around his neck, the collar he's informed Dukat he's lethally modified. “It wasn’t difficult, you know.” Garak smiles down at him, sharp incisors glinting.

Dukat gasps up at him, going pale. “You’re lying.”

Garak hums. “I could be.” He acknowledges. “Do you want to risk it?”

Dukat glares at him, panting raggedly, and then tenses up and keens. After a moment, they both look down at the spreading wet spot on his pants.

“Hmm,” Garak says, and then turns up the intensity again. “Remember to breathe.”

\-----

“Please, Garak, please,” Dukat gasps out, resting his head against Garak’s knee. Garak is sitting in Dukat’s chair, snooping through Dukat’s work padd, occasionally reminding him to breathe.

“Damar is smarter than he looks,” Garak says, scrolling through his report. “Wonder what he sees in you, then,” he muses abstently.

“What,” Dukat asks, confused, unable to breath.

“Shhh, don’t worry about it,” Garak says, petting his hair. “Skrain, breathe.”

Dukat lets it slide from his mind, takes a gasping breath, and goes back to begging. “Please, fuck me, Gar-” Dukat tenses up and whines, palming at his aching cock.

“I told you not to touch yourself,” Garak growls, smacking his hand away.

Dukat hisses, and sobs, and begs, spit strewn (the act of swallowing had become too difficult) and pathetic.

“What an appealing picture you make,” Garak drawls, and then laughs. “I think I forgive you.”

Dukat perks up hopefully. “So you’ll fu-”

Garak turns up the intensity again on the device, and Dukat cuts off with a gasp, and then clutches at his throat, unable to speak. “Huh,” Garak says, “Finally.” He stands up and pulls Dukat with him, and Dukat stumbles, clutching at him for balance.

Garak throws him across the bed, and starts getting his clothes off, the action hindered by Dukat’s limp, unresponsive form. They’re lucky Dukat is not in his Central Command Uniform, or this would have been even more difficult. Garak finally gets Dukat’s pants off, throwing the ruined garment to the floor. He unzips his own pants, and-

Dukat starts gasping for breath, taking deep gulps of air. “What,” he says, finally able to speak again, “Oh mercies, what’s… happening?”

“Oh,” Garak says, zipping his pants back up. “The safeties kicked in.”

“But,” Dukat says, pulling the chain off and rubbing at his throat. “You said there weren’t any-”

“Skrain, I wasn’t going to _kill_ you.”

“Awww, you _do_ care,” Dukat says, sitting up and smirking.

Garak hisses. “Shut the _fuck_ -” Dukat cuts him off with a kiss, and Garak sputters and pushes him away. “You’re all gross-- _Stop_ \--” Dukat dodges his flailing hands and presses their faces together, laughing and delighted. Garak tolerates this with a pained grimace. Soon Dukat calms somewhat, enough to kiss him again.

He pulls back. “You gonna fuck me or what, you old sap?”

“I should have killed you,” Garak murmurs faintly, picking up the chain. “It’s not too late, I can still alter the safeties”

Dukat slaps it clumsily out of his hands. “You wouldn’t do it. You like me too much.”

“Now don’t get carried away. I didn’t kill you, but don’t go reading anything into it.”

“Mmhmm,” Dukat says, kissing him, and then giggling against his mouth.

“You are extraordinarily high right now,” Garak says, with some amusement. Dukat hums, and Garak pulls back so he can get his shirt off, Dukat giggling again as he becomes momentarily entangled.

Once he’s freed, Garak starts on his own clothing, Dukat trying to help but just getting in the way. Eventually Garak manages, despite this, to undress, and pins Dukat to the bed. “Ready?” he asks.

Dukat rolls his eyes, wraps a leg around his waist. “ _Yes_. Or would you like me to beg some more?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Garak says, lining up.

“Garak” Dukat snaps, and then gasps, as Garak enters him. And then he does not speak for a very long time, silenced even more effectively than by special made Obsidian Order tightening collars.

\-----

Dukat lays panting on the bed, watching Garak get dressed. Garak finishes tightening his various clasps, and then turns to go.

“Elim,” Dukat says, voice rasping. He winces, rubs his abused throat, and tries again. “Your collar,” he scoops it up and offers it up to Garak.

Garak looks down at it, and then back up at Dukat. “Keep it.”

“What?” Dukat chokes out, shocked. Agents (exiled or otherwise) do not let the Order’s equipment get into civilian hands. Garak looks into his eyes, this knowledge hanging unspoken between them for a long moment. He shrugs.

“I know you liked it. Think of it as _my_ going away present.” Dukat flinches, and then looks back at Garak, scrutinizing him.

“You really--” he cuts off, throat tightening.

Garak puts a hand on his face. “Skrain, breathe.”

Dukat does.


End file.
